Half Light
by TurningArt
Summary: Of dealing with divorce and a love affair. FABERRY. Complete 3-chapter upload.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is mostly dialogue based. Title is lifted from the same song by Athlete. _

_I'm trying to deal with the trauma that is Glee ending. _

The first time it happened, Rachel wanted to forget.

Forget being on Page Six; about Jesse's indiscretion with his co-star who eerily had striking similarities with her. She wanted not to be reminded of being the Broadway Diva whose epic love story has turned into a circus.

The whispers, like a Greek Chorus, played in her head over and over. Enough to drive anyone into madness.

_Is she wearing her wedding ring?_

_Who is she meeting with?_

_Is that a divorce lawyer?_

_I wonder if they have a prenup?_

She walked inside The Carlyle with the hope of reaching her destination incognito if only to avoid to the discomfort of eyes following her movement. She wasn't worried. Because this could be dismissed as a reunion; a much needed consoling from a dear friend.

Rachel offered a small, broken smile before she shyly entered the hotel room. Shucking her coat off, the diva surveyed the Old World décor and interior nonchalantly, while internally exorcising all nervousness away.

"Something to drink?"

"I'll have what you have."

Her right eyebrow involuntarily rose, impressed at the Moet Champagne offered to her.

"You never disappoint."

"The occasion calls for something exquisite."

Rachel couldn't help but laugh despite the situation. "I'm about to commit infi—"

"I prefer to call it…liaison."

She closed her eyes the moment elegant fingers caressed her face. "Always eloquent, Quinn Fabray," she muttered under shaky breath. Quinn, whose intense gaze did not waver, gave a reassuring smile. "You have approximately thirty seconds to stop this," the blonde said in jest, kneeling in front her, "or any moment. I'm just here for you."

"Don't…don't say that. Don't be _that_ Quinn right now."

"What Quinn?"

"My friend. I don't—don't be my friend."

Quinn nodded solemnly in understanding. "I just need you to—when you feel uncomfortable about this—"

Rachel leaned forward and kissed the other woman brusquely, causing the blonde girl to grasp the diva's shoulder in an effort to hold her ground. There was no need for rituals and ceremonies; no tentativeness, no chaste kisses.

Rachel fought the urge to pull away in shock at how her body responded. She anticipated some form of repulsion driven by guilt and shame. She didn't, however, expect the intense shot of arousal that immediately pooled at her center and a surge of stimulation making her extremely sensitive even to the feel of her own dress. She almost cried. _Quinn_ is making her feel all of this in less than thirty seconds. _Quinn¸_ at the point wasn't even doing anything _yet_, except respond to her searing kiss in a calm manner, trying to gain control by slowing down the pace.

That also yielded a new wave of sensations for the actress. The sudden—delightful—realization that the former cheerleader is gearing to take charge almost made Rachel moan loudly. Has this fantasy existed? Was it merely tucked away in the recesses of her brain? There was no time for internal debate at that moment because Quinn managed to position between her legs and was assaulting her neck. The diva was wide open for everything; for Quinn and for everything her body and mind have been aching for since they decided to meet.

There was no turning back, not after Quinn grazed her tongue around her earlobe. Rachel pulled the other woman closer with her leg and mumbled profanity, giving the blonde that one final hint that inhibitions were thrown out.

The passion of that moment was blinding. It was the culmination of the many months that involved phone calls, text and online messages; of innocent banter to blatant seduction.

Alright, so it wasn't really the first time, first time.

There was phone sex. A lot of them.

They have become adept at compartmentalizing— there was amity and there was sex. It wasn't messy and it was very functional. It was everything Rachel felt she needed, to alleviate the pain of a crumbling life with Jesse that began with her miscarriage some years ago. She blamed herself and _he_ had grown tired of convincing her that it wasn't her fault.

She's not ready to publicly admit defeat, though internally, they both are aware that things are almost over. Only a handful know the true status of her life these days. Kurt and Blaine, are of course, constantly on the loop. Santana catches up with her mostly through emails. The Latina used to take flights whenever Brittany is out for her academic conferences, but that was now impossible with having a toddler at hand. And finally, there's Quinn who comes and goes. As one of the emerging hotshots in the playwright industry, the blonde hibernates in the most unlikely locations to find her muse—then shows up without so much as a warning bell.

Everyone else privy to her personal life were paid to paint it better for public consumption.

In an effort to mask their trial separation, Rachel eagerly accepted a recurring role in the newest legal drama set in New York.

Los Angeles, for all its open space, was suffocating her.

One paparazzi-ready goodbye with her husband at LAX and she was off to temporary reprieve.

Rachel resettled in Manhattan with so much ease. That was very helpful given that location shooting is a lot more hectic and intense. None of the difficulties however dampened Rachel's guarded optimism.

Until news about Jesse's infidelity broke out.

Jesse's latest plaything was just one among the many blows; but there was solace in his ability to keep it under the radar. The carelessness over this one was the turning point and the reason why Rachel was seething. It's going to take a whole new level of guerilla PR to make it go away. She certainly did _not_ appreciate the ego-bruising insinuation of gossip blogs that at only thirty two, Jesse was gearing to leave her for someone much younger.

Snuggled up on her window bed, the actress deliberately ignored her phone and instead focused on her laptop, heating up with messages. The diva flashed a genuine smile for the first time in days. For a group of adults, their chat logs were as juvenile as ever. They have the Glee Chat Group and subgroups depending on the purpose.

**Kurt: **Is he stupid or what?!

**Santana: **Please powder-face, Finn showed more intelligence than that Neanderthal. RIP Finn.

**Rachel: **Let's leave the departed alone, shall we?

**Santana**: I DID type RIP.

**Blaine**: I think what's more important to know is, what're you planning to do?

**Santana**: Castrate him. I'm just waiting for Britt-Britt to come back and I'll be on my way to LA

**Santana**: Can't leave my little Beelzebub alone

**Blaine**: That question was intended for Rachel to answer (though I'm quite agreeable with your suggestion).

**Kurt**: Why do you call YOUR child that? (And Blaine, don't encourage Santana).

**Santana**: Are you in the same room and using separate accounts for this chat? Hilarious. Y'all be rolling your eyes if I call her my little angel, won't you? Just keeping it real.

**Kurt**: Yes, we're in the same room together with the kiddo. It's more efficient this way. And fine, I concede that your daughter is a potential weapon of mass destruction.

**Rachel**: ANYWAY

**Rachel**: To answer Blaine, no, I have no idea what to do. I've been avoiding phone calls and emails from my team and especially HIS team. I just want to be left alone for now.

**Santana**: … then why the heck are chatting? Go sulk in the corner.

**Rachel**: Not YOU. Just them. I'm very, very happy that you're all virtually present right now.

**Kurt**: Except one. Where in the world is Quinn, again?

**Santana**: God knows. But I shot an email to her a couple of minutes ago. I'm pretty sure after reading the subject: RACHEL NEEDS YOUR HELP, she'll be online soon.

**Quinn is now online. **

**Quinn has joined the conversation. **

**Santana: **Yup, there you go.

**Blaine**: Your knowledge on Quinn's behavior is freakishly accurate.

**Quinn**: I'm right here. Why am I the topic of conversation?

**Rachel**: Don't mind them. Hey, Quinn! :D

**Kurt**: Why is it that it's only Quinn who merits a smiley?

**Rachel**: Where are you?

**Kurt**: I'm a few blocks away from you, like you don't know.

**Rachel**: … I was asking Quinn.

**Santana**: God, here we go again. Can we like, put the names before the sentence. Like, if I'm talking to Rachel I'll say "RACHEL, why don't you kill your husband? I'll help bury him."

**Quinn**: Good idea. Well, for everyone's information, I'm currently in Saint Helena.

**Santana**: QUINN WHAT THE FUCKITY FUCK ARE YOU DOING THERE

**Quinn**: SANTANA Because it's beautiful here, unlike your choice of words.

**Santana**: QUINN You're a bitch and a half

**Kurt**: QUINN Do you just randomly point at a map and move there?

**Blaine**: QUINN I'm actually envious of you.

**Rachel**: AHEM.

**Kurt**: Uh oh, the diva is feeling unattended.

**Santana**: Oh, that's right. This is about Rachel's husband banging a starlet.

**Quinn**: Santana!

**Rachel**: Given his lack of stamina, I would hardly call anything he does sexually as "banging".

**Kurt**: O_O

**Blaine**: Oh my.

**Santana**: WHO LET THE LYNX OUT?! MEEEYOW!

**Quinn**: Are you getting a divorce?

**Rachel**: My move here as you know is a trial separation.

**Rachel**: A divorce is so…abusive. It's public and it's disgusting how every detail will be talked about on E! I don't think I can handle that right now.

**Quinn**: Understandable.

**Santana**: Murder is a way better option.

**Blaine**: SANTANA You do realize if something happens to Jesse, you'd be the first suspect?

**Santana**: Monsieur Pompadour, are you schooling ME on crime investigation? Little ol' criminal defense lawyer me?

**Santana: **Besides, the spouse is always the first suspect.

**Rachel: **There won't be any murder!

**Santana**: There will be. And I'm not going to jail unless one of you bitches show this conversation.

**Blaine**: This is making me nervous.

**Kurt**: YOU were amenable to it earlier.

**Blaine**: JUST the castration!

**Santana**: OH AND BY THE WAY RACHEL, I WOULD LIKE TO CONGRATULATE YOU FOR PORTRAYING ME WELL ON YOUR NEW SHOW.

**Rachel**: Is that sarcasm or…

**Santana**: I was actually so fucking flattered I cried.

**Quinn**: I can confirm she did. She was sobbing like a child. And you really did a great job, Rach. As usual J

**Rachel**: Well, then. Thank you :D I'm glad I did you justice.

**Quinn**: Will it change from recurring to permanent casting?

**Rachel**: I'll find out within the next few weeks. Without preempting it, I'm very much inclined to stay on the show.

**Kurt**: We should have a celebratory dinner soon, then. Quinn, when are you coming back to this part of the world?

**Santana**: When she's probably tired of her Japanese doll. It's sad that we have to stalk your Instagram to be updated, BTW.

**Quinn**: Her name is Keiko and I'm rather very fond of her.

**Santana**: As in the whale? Too bad I can't make Free Willy jokes cos you lack the willy.

**Rachel**: Is that an indication of something more serious? ;) If so, all the more we need to get together and meet her!

**Santana**: How do you find these girls? Like seriously, Q. They're hot.

**Kurt**: Reminding you that you have a wife who's currently giving a math lecture somewhere.

**Santana**: I'm allowed to appreciate womankind, I'm not blind, and Britts is not the jealous type.

**Rachel**: Can you people ALLOW Quinn to talk before going off-tangent? This is like every other conversation we have. And then you wonder why she hardly says anything.

**Kurt**: Okaaaaaay.

**Rachel**: So Quinn :D

**Quinn**: I'm actually fine as an observer in our crazy forum, but thank you, Rach J

**Santana**: Sweetness overload. Barf.

**Quinn**: Anyway, hmm, I don't know. I've just been with her for a couple of months. And she's a few months away from finishing her graduate course. So…

**Blaine**: Oh, she'll go back to Japan?

**Quinn**: Most likely. I didn't have illusions of anything more enduring.

**Rachel**: L

**Quinn**: Aww, Rach. I'll be fine!

**Santana**: Yup, she'll find a new chick…or dick (I don't know with Q-tip anymore) as soon as Empress Geisha reaches her stopover.

**Kurt: **Puck was her last boyfriend though…

**Santana: **It's Christian guilt, her need to have a heterosexual relationship every now and then.

**Quinn**: I'M RIGHT HERE! Quit it with the slurs and speculations about my sexuality, god. Also, you know we should be consoling Rachel, Santana. This isn't about my personal life.

**Santana**: Oooh, I hit a nerve.

**Quinn**: No, you didn't. But it's Rachel who needs our attention.

**Santana**: Geez, Q. From my end, YOU are the only one who's been mostly absent from everyone and hasn't been doing so well in the comforting department.

**Kurt**: Okay, let's not go there.

**Rachel**: Hey! Stop, the two of you.

**Quinn**: Okay, does anyone else feel the same way? Rachel?

**Rachel**: Quinn, I genuinely understand that you can't always be there, nor do I've set that expectation on our friendship.

**Quinn**: But with everyone else, you have?

**Blaine**: Uhm, guys…

**Quinn**: So you really all think I'm just the absentee friend?

**Santana**: Pretty much.

**Kurt**: Santana!

**Santana**: … but we love you anyway?

**Quinn**: Riiight. We are going to talk after this.

**Blaine**: … be specific? I'm a bit scared.

**Quinn**: Santana. She's the one being a bitch about this.

**Santana**: Whatever.

**Rachel**: Awww, I think Santana's just missing Quinn a LOT!

**Santana**: You're skating on very thin ice, Rachel.

**Rachel**: Sanny misses Quinnie :'

**Blaine**: :D

**Kurt**: 3

**Quinn**: Only because Brittany is away. I'm resigned to the fact that I'm her substitute blonde. Without the sex (not these days) :)

**Santana**: OMG SHUT UP ALL OF YOU IM LOGGING OFF NOW AND QUINN HOW DARE YOU BRING UP ANCIENT HISTORY THAT HAPPENED ONCE

**Quinn: **TWO TIMES.

**Santana has left the conversation. **

**Rachel: **That was very mean of you, Quinn. And highly inappropriate.

**Kurt: **And really immature.

**Quinn: **Oh, bother. She deserved it. She'll be back in in five…four…three…

**Santana has joined the conversation. **

**Quinn: **See?

**Quinn**: I'll drop by Boston first thing when I get back.

**Santana**: Whatever. Your Goddaughter misses you.

**Quinn**: I miss her and I miss you too :D

**Santana**: You did not just use that emoticon. Nerd.

**Rachel**: Well, I'm glad it's settled.

**Quinn: **I'll call you later, Rach. Okay?

The diva laughed loudly as she reviewed the chat log, because the one thing that's saving her sanity is the _insanity_ that her friends from high school embodied. They understood. That while her problem is no more special or unique than the rest, to be under the Hollywood limelight meant issues were magnified tenfold.

It was Quinn who first expressed her apprehension about the Broadway star's attempt to reclaim Los Angeles. The blonde had gently reminded her of the unique blend of hypocrisy and nastiness that resided in that area.

No one knew more about the struggle against those qualities than Quinn Fabray. At least her younger version. Because the older Quinn, Rachel realized, had finally ditched most of the pretensions that defined her even in Yale. It was a long, agonizing process. The blonde tried theatre acting for a short time, then decided she's too self-conscious to be happy on stage. She ended up in stage management but once admitted that her control freak self is committing slow suicide when unforeseeable things happen during production.

For a while, Quinn was a butterfly in a storm.

Until she found her niche in playwriting through a serendipitous affair with an avant-garde director. It was very fitting—in a roundabout way— that Quinn's journey to self-discovery was with a person who constantly pushed the boundaries of established norms. The undercurrent of the playwright's life had been the usual point of discussion among their tight circle of friends.

Except for Santana—much to Rachel's annoyance. Santana just seemed to _know_ Quinn the way Rachel has always wanted to. The worst part is, Santana just also knew how desperate the diva wanted to be close to Quinn. "You've never outgrown your little obsession with Q," the Latina noted. "Don't you know she gets off by giving you a preview and not a full show?"

"What are you—ugh the images, Santana!"

"What?"

"I just…nothing, never mind. I'm just perplexed about her forthrightness when it's about my life, but…I don't—she's—an enigma."

"She's boring, to be honest."

"Of cour—"

"No, seriously, she's boring. Peel of the layers of mystic, and all you have is a dork who likes to be left alone with her books and journal."

"Why do you—"

"It's not an insult, Berry," the lawyer laughed. "Don't get your panties up in a bunch. No point making fun of her when she's not here to glare at me—I do it for the entertainment value of her nostrils flaring."

"I'm just worried, you know? We're all settled while she's…somewhere with some random person."

"She's not with some—Geez, you make her sound like an STD patient waiting to happen. What does she call herself? Oh. Yeah. Serial monogamist."

"She's proud of that?"

"I suppose it was said in a facetious manner. The lull periods are actually a lot longer."

To say that Rachel's been thrilled that Quinn had decided to give her more than the usual attention was an understatement. In the middle of her marital scandal, her "little obsession" with the blonde was being indulged.

"Hey there, hotshot."

"Mhm, keep it up."

"What're you up to?"

"Reading."

"Do you ever get tired of reading?"

"Do you ever get tired of performing?"

"Lately...sometimes."

"Take a break."

"Read something to me."

"Some other time."

"How come?"

"I'll find a better story."

"Is what you're reading sad?"

"Heartbreaking."

"But I like sad stories."

"Why?"

"It means I'm not alone. Someone's going through something similar."

"You're never alone. I'm—we're here for you."

"Don't let what Santana said affect you."

"There's truth behind what she said. I should be more present in your lives."

"_Should…_It's not an obligation, sweetie. As long as you're having a fulfilling life, we're more than glad to be part of it in any way."

"I'll come visit you."

"I don't want to be a burden, Quinn."

"You aren't. You never were."

"You always say the right things."

"I don't. You, of all people, should know—you're yawning. What time is it there?"

"Half past twelve."

"Damn it. I'm sorry."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm the one who called…because someone promised me she will but didn't."

"That person's an idiot."

"Oh, yes. But I'm much too forgiving."

"Which is probably why that person is too complacent."

"I love her, anyway."

"I bet she loves you, too. Just…has a weird way of showing it."

"Which is _why_ I'm forgiving."

"It won't happen again."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Quinn."

"I don't make promises I don't intend to keep."

"Unless it involves metro passes."

"… I thought you're forgiving?"

"Yes, but I do not forget…easily."

"I _did_ use them all up."

"Weeks before they expired."

"It's the outcome that matters…and you're yawning again. Get some rest, sleepyhead."

"Not yet. I'm waiting for you to read me something. Your voice would be my lullaby."

"That's either you're telling me my voice is a bore or—"

"It's soothing. I love hearing you talk."

"You're buttering me up."

"Read, Shakespeare."

_"_Fine, fine.

_…Perhaps I am his hope. But then she is his present. And if she is present, I am not his present. Therefore, I am not, and I wonder why no-one has noticed I am dead and taken the trouble to bury me. For I am utterly collapsed. I lounge with glazed eyes, or weep tears of sheer weakness._"

"That's beautiful."

"I'll call you tomorrow."

"Promises, promises."

Whether Quinn took it as a challenge or she simply did it out of sincerity, Rachel couldn't care less. Rather than be somber in the set the next day, her co-workers were surprised—and relieved— that the diva was in chipper mood. Most, probably had the impression that this is was her coping mechanism: a façade of cheerfulness to combat the storm. The truth however is, Rachel woke up with her sourest disposition yet— due to a series of nightmares involving Jesse and her acting trophies. Her day merely picked up while on the way to work after receiving a picture message from Quinn. The sender described it to be "Jacob's Ladder" taken from the top of it, and overlooking a town. The caption read: Descent to madness in 699 steps.

"I hope you don't desire to use that. That looks awfully steep. And old."

"I try to avoid any activity that might lead to another paralysis. I can only be lucky once."

"That's a relief. Do take care of yourself, Quinn. I googled Saint Helena this morning, and I must say, while it's really breath taking, it's a place I'm not sure I want to be stuck in if I contract a serious illness or injury, given its remoteness."

"I'm doing well, Rach. You worry too much."

"Okay, okay. Thank you for the lovely photo. I woke up really grumpy but am now feeling better. I'm on my way to a courthouse scene."

"The thought of you portraying an ambitious defense lawyer is extremely gratifying to the senses."

"You're making me blush. You're…up so early."

"Morning walks. I love the sunrise and the hope it brings."

"Reading poetry?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"So read me some before I go in and pretend to be someone else."

_"_Alright.

…_Because you're psychic  
no one else could understand me  
the way you do and_

_I say  
Drink Me_

_I say it to you silently  
but it calls forth in me_

_the water for you  
the water you asked for._"

A/N:

"_Perhaps I am his hope. But then she is his present. And if she is present, I am not his present. Therefore, I am not, and I wonder why no-one has noticed I am dead and taken the trouble to bury me. For I am utterly collapsed. I lounge with glazed eyes, or weep tears of sheer weakness._" –Elizabeth Smart

"_Because you're psychic  
no one else could understand me  
the way you do and_

_I say  
Drink Me_

_I say it to you silently  
but it calls forth in me_

_the water for you  
the water you asked for._"—Rebecca Wolf


	2. Chapter 2

She drowned on wine and sorrow; she drank to drown out the 25 missed calls, 18 voice mails, a hundred or so social media tags. She couldn't deny to herself that a little bit—okay, a huge chunk—of her heart shattered when none of those communication logs belonged to Jesse.

Not that the actress can blame her husband. She _did_ say not to ever talk to her again; that their next line of communication would be through divorce proceedings. She imagined Jesse St. James already conferring with his lawyers.

Dread loomed over the possibility of legal action particularly with the unspoken issue of asset distribution. Both of their careers—and consequently, wealth—flourished almost at the same time. They felt no need for an antenuptial agreement. The couple genuinely believed that they are each other's fate; they have gone past naivety and have went through so much.

They knew this was _certain_.

And yet, they have become just another Hollywood couple, readying statements asking for privacy, consoling fans that they will remain friends.

That in the end, their marriage will be dissolved based on two words: irreconcilable differences.

Rachel finally shed a tear—and an ironic giggle—after she found herself humming "Arthur's Theme" in the midst of her musings, curled up in her apartment with a full glass of wine and the moon faithfully keeping her company.

_When you get caught between the moon and New York City._

Staring at her husband's number, Rachel took a deep breath and closed her eyes. This had to be done. She felt opening night jitters while waiting for him to pick up the phone, and almost broke down upon hearing his voice.

"Rachel?"

"Jesse, yes."

"Rachel, listen—"

"I'm surprised you picked up your phone."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too."

"So…"

"I just wanted to check if you were still breathing."

"You told me not to contact you."

"Since when do you listen to me?"

"Since Santana called me—"

"She what?!"

"Threatened to cut my balls and bury them under the Hollywood sign if I ever try to talk to you."

"…That's—"

"And I've known your friends enough to recognize I shouldn't dismiss that as an idle threat."

"I'm…sorry?"

"I can hear it in your voice. It's okay to laugh."

"There's nothing funny about our situation."

"I know. A little levity won't hurt though, Rachel. You have every right to…I'm the one who needs to be remorseful."

"Are you?"

"I don't want to lose you, Rachel."

"That doesn't really answer my question, you know that."

"Rachel, you _know_ I am. We—it's not too late. We can still work this out. I've been begging us to go for marriage counseling since..."

"I _know_ this is mostly my fault, Jesse."

"I'm _not_ putting all the blame on you. God, Rachel. You didn't ask me to cheat—"

"I pushed you, didn't I?"

"…Maybe the first time, I can say—"

"I can't give you a child, Jesse! God, when are _we_ going to discuss _that_?!"

"Rachel—"

"I carried someone else's baby, but—"

"Stop. Just stop, please. I—let's talk some other time, Rachel. Just know that I'm not rushing to end anything. I won't unless you do."

"Right, then. Take care of yourself."

"You too, Rach."

_The best that you can do, is fall in love. _

"Quinn?"

"Rach—are you crying? What happened?"

"N-nothing, nothing new. Are you—is this a good time to talk?"

"Yes, I—give me a second."

"I'm sorry, I should—"

"Don't you dare. I just turned off my stove."

"Please don't die of hunger for my sake."

"A little grumbling of the stomach has not been known to kill. Talk to me. What's on your mind?"

"Have you ever been in love? Like, honest to goodness, you feel your heart being ripped out, kind of in love?"

"_That_ has been known to kill."

"Have you?"

"…I—"

"Because it hurts…twice in my life I've felt that kind of love and lost it, and I don't know who to talk to, Quinn."

"Rachel, breathe."

"Kurt and Blaine…Santana and Brittany. I'm surrounded by people who has so much love for each other, and I feel so, _so_ alone. They don't—they wouldn't understand."

"Rachel—"

"Have you, Quinn? Please, please, tell me I'm not alone."

"I—yes. Yes, I do. I know very well the feeling. Too well."

Quinn _loved_. As passionately and faithfully as she did. The thought played over and over Rachel's mind.

Rachel: Was it Puck?

"Your first text message of the day involves a mention of my ex. You don't deserve a reply from me."

"So…you instead called."

"I had to protest in some form."

"Is it the director?"

"Rachel, drop it. It should be enough for you to know you're not alone in this."

"How did you get over?"

"I just…woke up one morning with the realization that I'm watching the world pass me by, and so I had to move on."

"You didn't fight for them?"

"Rach, are you prepared to really end things with Jesse?"

"You're deflecting."

"Your problem is more pressing."

"You just would never answer anything. Honestly, no. The very thought of it drives me insane. I should, but I shouldn't. I'm so confused and my heart and mind are just constantly pushing and pulling."

"Then, don't make any decisions right now."

"Is there ever a right time to decide when your marriage is over?"

"I can't say anything about it, Rachel. I've never been married."

"I'm sorry, you're right. I'm being unfair to you, unloading all this and expecting you to be—"

"Rachel."

"Yeah?"

"Listening to you is the best I can do right now. I'm more than regretful that I can't offer anything else."

"You're saving me, Quinn. I don't—I know that sounds intense—"

"You're always intense. That's okay."

"I'm not putting any undue pressure on you, am I?"

"No, of course not. But I do hope you still know Kurt and everyone else are there for you as well. Don't—try not to isolate yourself."

"Do you know how annoying it is that they're trying not to be all lovey-dovey when I'm with them?"

"Uhm, no."

"Well, they are. It's, ugh. I appreciate the sensitivity but it can be aggravating."

"Well—"

"It's not like I'm even _bitter_ about love in general—are you…are you laughing at me, Quinn Fabray?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's just I _can_ imagine you huffing and puffing whenever Kurt and Blaine become conscious about their actions in front of you. I kind of miss that."

"Kurt and Blaine's PDA?"

"No, silly. Your display of petulance. It's very cute…when not on the receiving end of it."

"I was under the impression that you categorically hated that."

"At one point, yes."

"What changed?"

"I grew up. We all did."

"Sometimes, I wish I'm still in high school."

"Well…growing up doesn't mean having to lose everything that we were back then. I hold on to certain things very dear to me."

Has she lost everything that made her who she was in high school in exchange for what she was today? What was Rachel Berry made off now? Carefully worded statements? Orchestrated visibility? A million dollar price tag in exchange for an exclusive interview?

Was there anything else in her younger years that she felt certain that she can hold on to? She panicked. Cried. And panicked again. She had no answer.

She emailed Santana an SOS. The very next day, the Latina was at her doorstep, toddler in tow. "Your apartment better be childproof or a lawsuit will be hanging by your door."

"I missed you," Rachel gushed as she squeezed the breath out of her friend. "Where's Brittany?"

"She'll follow tomorrow. She just had to finish some—Cuidado, Sofia!"

Both women winced at the sound of a vase breaking.

"Uh…I'll replace that," Santana said sheepishly.

Santana's presence served a particular purpose: to stop her from running back to LA. She even voluntarily approved to be manhandled if needed be. There was comfort in the feistiness of the Latina and the light-hearted attitude Brittany brings.

Yet, she found herself craving for the conversations she had with Quinn.

"Hey."

"Why are you whispering?"

"Santana and Brittany are in the guest room…and the little devil is sleeping in my bed."

"…Why is Sofia with you?"

"They sent her here. Because uhm…they're…"

"Say no more."

"I can actually hear…faint moans. It's a bit—"

"Welcome to my world?"

"Did it—hold on I'll go to the bathroom."

"Okay? Are you—"

"Okay, there. I was gonna ask—and I felt inappropriate discussing this in front of a sleeping child—if…you've felt oddly turned on by the sounds they—oh my god, are you choking?"

"I—I'm okay. Just coffee—nose—I'm okay now."

"I'm sorry, I should've prefaced it well. It's just that I've never really had the two of them sleep over after Brittany being gone for a month."

"Yes, well, it's too late for that."

"Are you alright now?"

"Yeah…very."

"So…have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Been turned on?"

"Why are you—"

"Come on, it's like the biggest elephant in the room right now."

"Fine. When…they were starting out. I mean, they would make out in front of me. I'm human."

"But you were Christian."

"…and that makes me half-human?"

"Ha Ha. I just meant—I imagined that even though you've always been supportive of them, a part of you would've been disgusted by the very thought of two women kissing."

"In principle, I probably shouldn't have enjoyed it as much as I did."

"But you did."

"Wipe that smirk off your face, Berry."

"How did you—"

"You just need to drown out the noise, Rach. You can't stay inside the bathroom until it's over."

"How _long_ will it take for them to...finish?"

"Are you so turned on now? You might finish first than them though cos they're very exhaustive in their lovemaking."

"I'm _not_—Stop laughing at me! This is serious. I need to sleep!"

"Okay, I'm really—"

"But you know what, since we're in that topic—"

"Nope, don't you dare ask—"

"I will. Are you equally thorough with your female partners?"

"Rachel. Really. I'm not divulging extremely intimate details of my life with you."

"Oh, come on. Humor me. Are you the top?"

"Rachel, I'm not discussing that with you."

"You must be the top."

"Can you not—wait, why would you think that?"

"Hello, you're Quinn Fabray."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"So, that's an affirmative?"

"No!"

"Oh, wow. You're the bottom? I never pegged you to be submissive."

"I didn't say that! Rachel!"

"Fine. I'm just deliberately annoying you. I'm sure it's a lot more complex than that."

"Yes, it is a _lot_ more complex than—"

"So there's no point asking if you're a giver more than a receiver?"

"Ugh, Racheeeeel."

"Since you're sort of bisexual—"

"What do you mean sort of?!"

"Well, like what Kurt said, Puck was the last guy…"

"I don't like labels."

"Okay, fair enough. Anyway, my next question is—"

"Oh my god, give up!"

"Nope. I'm suffering, and you're going to have to suffer with me—don't growl at me. You said for me to drown out the sounds. Now, okay. Do you prefer sex with a male or a female?"

"Female."

"Well, that answer was…quick."

"You're not going to end this line of questioning anyway. It's very…utilitarian."

"Because you can't get pregnant?"

"Because I don't enjoy…penetration. And I'm not inclined to do any favors involving my mouth on someone's raging ding dong."

"I—uhm, really? Well, really. Of course. Okay, that's—ding dong?"

"There's still a little Christian in me."

"Right, that's adorable. And I'll try to forget that you mentioned penetration and oral sex in one go. The holy ghost is not pleased."

"But you are."

"You're a lot more candid. I certainly am. You're so interesting...picking your brain. I can spend a lifetime knowing you—not, I mean, that didn't come out right."

"No, it didn't."

"I _meant_, you're such a beautiful creature and—gosh darn it, I'm not saying it correctly! I meant—can you _stop _laughing?! Seriously, you can be so juvenile—No, let me rephrase—"

"Breathe, Rachel."

"You'll always be Quinn Fabray in my eyes."

"That's because I _am_ Quinn Fabray?"

"No, _no_. I meant, _the _Quinn Fabray. Head Cheerleader, unreachable, untouchable, Quinn Fabray. Then we became friends. And to be able to talk to you this way…know things about you that you've never shared with anyone else _still _makes me feel so…giddy inside. I'm rambling—Are you going to read to me?"

"I…yeah, I anticipated that. I chose this before we…"

"I look forward to it, to be honest."

"Me too.

_…There are those who know and those who don't know. And for every ten thousand who don't know there's only one who knows. That's the miracle of all time-the fact that these millions know so much but don't know this."_

"Wow that's…"

"Fate."

She's always believed in fate, but somehow, Rachel's hasn't had a good relationship with it. Fate wasn't also giving her even a moment of truce as she spotted some wannabe social media bloggers surreptitiously taking photos of her on the way to work. And fate literally slapped her with an errant tabloid page flying directly to her face.

Topic: Berry-St. James headed for divorce?

She swore and wanted to tear the paper into pieces, until she realized she was in public. The last thing she needed was another headline: Berry Breakdown.

Everything became too much for that day after receiving news that despite the high ratings, the show's survival was in jeopardy in favor of a cheaper production.

Of yet another teenage drama starring unknown, marginally good looking, and barely talented actors.

Rachel: How would you feel if I suddenly drop everything and move to Saint Helena?

Quinn: I'd haul your ass back to New York. Why are you on your phone? I thought you had to run a scene.

Rachel: Done. I'm a one-take wonder.

Quinn: That, I have no doubt.

Rachel: Too bad you won't be seeing more of me in the show.

Quinn: They didn't renew your contract?

Rachel: They might not renew the show at all. I don't know what to do after.

Quinn: You're Rachel Berry. You'll always find a worthwhile project.

Rachel: Thank you for the ego boost I so need right now. What's the great Quinn Fabray up to?

Quinn: Making stuffed pokes.

Rachel: That sounds kinky.

Quinn: If you're into tuna belly.

Rachel: I take back what I said.

Quinn: Aww, so you wouldn't like a poke from me?

Rachel: You've been waiting to say that, haven't you?

Quinn: Yup. My day's complete ;) Too bad you won't know how good it is.

Rachel: I never said I'm opposed to trying your poke.

Quinn: No one can resist it. It's been known to elicit moans of satisfaction.

Rachel: I'm assuming we're still talking about the cuisine.

Quinn: But of course.

Rachel knew somehow it wasn't right; the subtle and gradual escalation of double entendre, and sexually blatant messages mixed with sweetness and care. All buffered by a very safe distance.

Somewhere, a new blog entry from a popular site was updated at some point: Rachel Berry sexting? The actress, all smiles (we LOVE the lip biting, Ms. Berry!), seems to be so immersed on her phone. Looks like a broken marriage and a (rumored) cancelled show aren't enough to bring our favorite Broadway diva down. P.S We would love to know who's making her blush so hard because it's everything to us Berry fans everywhere.

Rachel: Rate yourself as a kisser.

Quinn: I'm a decent kisser.

Rachel: That's not a rating.

Quinn: I don't know. You'd have to ask the people I kissed.

Rachel: I did. Finn said he saw fireworks.

Quinn: Yeah, you mentioned that to me before. I kind of don't feel comfortable talking about that. I mean, Finn's memory… I'd like to keep it wholesome.

Rachel: Because he sucked at kissing, huh?

Quinn: A bit.

Rachel: That's okay. I think he knew that as well.

Quinn: So, how do you rate yourself?

Rachel: I'd say I'm a 7.

Quinn: That's crap. I'd say a 9.

Rachel: That's very high coming from someone who's never tested the product.

Quinn: Based on user reviews, of course.

Rachel: You talked about this with Finn?

Quinn: With Puck. I definitely trust him when it comes to numerical assessments of women.

Rachel: What else did you talk to him about?

Quinn: We talked about a lot of things. Be more specific.

Rachel: About my amorous side.

Quinn: A lot of times. Can't deny being curious about you, Rachel Berry. You do have very kissable lips.

She had some explaining to do (or so her publicist insisted). Rachel took a mental note of telling Quinn about her decision to fire certain people in her team.

Quinn. The person behind her documented blush-fest. Breaking her vow to never read gossip blogs anymore, the actress found herself staring at the article: a series of pictures—a very revealing set—woven into one story.

The lip bite.

Quinn: I woke up this morning suddenly missing you.

Rachel: We miss you too, you know that? Terribly so.

Quinn: No, no. I miss you.

Rachel: Just me?

The embarrassed look.

Quinn: Only you. I dreamt of you singing to me.

Rachel: Well, that can be arranged soon.

Quinn: I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to afford a private performance.

Rachel: How about a tit for tat?

Quinn: What kind do you expect from me?

Rachel: What kind can you offer?

Quinn: Anything you have in mind, I'm sure I'm more than capable of delivering.

The rubbing of her nape.

Rachel: We have an agreement, then?

Quinn: Certainly. I'm looking forward to showcasing my skills. I'm sure it will leave you speechless.

Rachel: You should know it's an almost impossible task to make me speechless.

That blush.

Quinn: Almost. And that's only because I haven't tried yet.

Those telephoto lenses were just too darn good.

Her publicist deserved an apology and rehiring.

Rachel closed her eyes to clear her mind. Sexting.

She didn't know if that would indeed qualify as such. But she was painfully aware of how she looked.

Mostly because she was aware of how she _felt_.

She has never felt more devious and it felt good. A million things people knew, but they don't know _this._ This thing with Quinn. It's _hers_ and only _hers._

Santana: Who the fuck is making me you orgasm in broad daylight? This better not be Jesse St. James because shit's about to get real.

Kurt: RACHEL BERRY ANSWER OUR MESSAGES!

Late night conversations were the worst. Or the best. Her hand has taken the habit of drawing circular patterns over her thigh when talking to the playwright when talking about their thoughts and dreams. It moved a little higher when the conversation turns to teasing.

"Are you going to ever give me a glimpse of what you're currently working on?"

"In time."

"Your last play…it made me cry, you know?"

"Is that a good thing?"

"Definitely. You're amazing, Quinn. I just wish you'd write something…happier."

"Like what kind of happy are we talking about?"

"Like…a happy love story."

"I don't like love stories."

"Why not? Everyone likes a love a story."

"Okay, let me amend. I don't like love stories that have happy endings."

"Don't be so jaded."

"I'm not. I'm not. I just—every play I write…there's a part of me hidden somewhere. And I just—I haven't found my own—I'm just not ready."

"I respect that. So…I should be expecting to cry again over this new play you're working on, huh?"

"I…it's not a play, Rach. Not— Just—I'm trying to, uh, I want to have something published."

"Quinn Fabray! A novel! My goodness! This is so exciting!"

"Uh, not yet. Just, I don't know, right now it's a shitty compilation of words that aren't going anywhere. It's...frustrating. I've been so trained in theatre, I don't know to get this done."

"It's gonna go somewhere. To the Best Seller list, of course!"

"I don't—it's—ugh! I don't even have a publisher, Rach. I'm not even sure if this is going to be—"

"Nonsense! Can I be the first to read the manuscript? Please?"

"But—"

"I'm not going to take 'no' for an answer!"

"Well, then, I suppose 'yes' would be the answer."

"Yes! Ugh, you're the best!"

"That's what she said."

"…Did you just—"

"Yes, yes I did."

"Dork."

"You enjoy it."

"Maybe a little too much."

"You dirty, dirty, girl."

"You have no idea."

"Maybe I do. After all, I do possess a remarkably vivid imagination that turned your likeness into...wall art"

"You _do_ have a penchant of bringing up the most awkward memories."

"Is that a deal breaker?"

"Not in this case. In fact, it's given me an idea for the most appropriate, albeit delayed, response."

Three days, fifteen hours and twenty three minutes. That's how long it took for Quinn to respond after Rachel's much touted delayed response. The diva was beginning to think she crossed the line. She did. Of course she did.

The actress, however, remained indignant. Sending a photo of her naked upper body _was_ the most fitting response. There was, in her opinion, a great deal of inaccuracy in Quinn's portraits. That needed to be corrected.

On the third day, fifteenth hour, and twenty fourth minute since she sent that revealing message, Rachel found herself staring; dumbfounded by _the _naked photo of Quinn forwarded in retaliation.

"I worship whoever invented disappearing messages."

"You don't play fair, Quinn. You have mine for posterity, and I'm left with…a memory."

"What are you willing to do for a fair trade?"

"Do you ever play fair?"

"When I'm convinced that the best outcome is mutually satisfying."

"And my body doesn't give you any substantial benefits?"

"I find words more…fulfilling. Nurtured by imagination."

"So if I tell you…that I'm in bathtub right now…"

"Yes."

"Do you want to know what my other hand is doing?"

What are _they_ doing? Rachel rolled her eyes in response to Quinn's message, panic seeping through the screen. She didn't care to respond, feeling slighted and angry. The blonde had a way of making herself sound innocent, that this was all the diva's own doing.

She didn't respond because once again, she felt rejected by _the_ Quinn Fabray.

She didn't respond because there was pride in seeing _the_ Quinn Fabray grovel for forgiveness and attention.

Quinn: Racheeeeeel.

Quinn: Pleaaaaaase answer me.

Quinn: Tell me what I should do. Heyyyy.

She felt testy and Jesse felt the brunt of it when he made the mistake of calling to discuss a possibility of him moving back to New York as well.

"Quinn."

"Y-yeah?"

"I…god, I'm such a mess."

"Shit, Rachel. What happened?"

"Jesse—he god I hate him. No, that's not—I don't but he's so frustrating!"

"Rachel, what did Jesse do?"

"I move back to New York to find my own space and breathe. And here he goes calling me to say he might move back here!"

"Oh…that's…uhm…maybe—he'll probably try to win you back. Make your…marriage work again."

"I want to do that on my own pace!"

"So you have been thinking of making it work again? Why…why hasn't this information surfaced before?"

"Because I'm still angry at him and I know you all would rally against the idea."

"There's a very good reason why we would do that. He cheated on you."

"So we're even."

"Rachel…that's hardly—what happened a few days ago—it's not—I can't say—"

"Phone sex is not sex?"

"Rachel, listen—"

"Will that placate your guilt?"

"Don't—you're being really unfair right now."

"Unfair? I'm _not_ the one who did the phone sex equivalent of eat and run."

"I'm really sorry for—"

"You didn't do anything, Quinn. You just…listened. It's one sided."

"… I did more than that."

"You can't tell me that _now_."

"I don't know what to tell you. It's what happened. It's not one-sided.

"We can…stop. Or not start again."

"That's the thing, isn't it? Do you want to?"

"Do you?"

"I'm _your_ friend. I really suck at this friendship thing. I'm not supposed to—I _should_ be comforting you."

"You _are_—I mean, not—okay, what's been happening is beyond…comforting in a platonic way. Don't beat your chest. You're…what I need right now. Everything you're doing."

"But you're thinking of fixing things with Jesse."

"That's a separate issue."

"I don't want to complicate matters— What _is_ going on between us, Rachel?"

"I don't know exactly! Do you expect me to—to rationalize things right now?"

"Calm down, Rach. Please."

"Is it wrong to want something that makes me forget?"

"Rachel, I—"

"I still love Jesse."

"You still—"

"But I don't want to deal with him right now. Can't I just have this with you? Do we have to dissect this? I trust you. I trust you won't hurt me. I won't hurt you, either."

"… Will that make you feel better?"

"I—what?"

"Fucking me. Will that make you feel better about everything?"

"When you put it that way, it really does seem one-sided."

"It's not—But I _want_ to know what I'm getting myself into."

"I don't understand—"

"You're mad at him. No matter how nonchalant you try to be, Rach. I know you. You're stark raving mad at him and life in general."

"Quinn—"

"Let's cut the bullshit, Rachel. You can't say this has nothing to do with him. And it's _okay_. It's okay to be mad at him. I understand. I understand the need to find comfort in someone else when that person you love has— And I'm your revenge fuck. I get it. It's _okay_."

"Quinn…I…You're not—"

"My contract for my rental here will end in a month. I'll see you in New York."

A/N:

"_There are those who know and those who don't know. And for every ten thousand who don't know there's only one who knows. That's the miracle of all time-the fact that these millions know so much but don't know this.- _Carson McCullers


	3. Chapter 3

Quinn watched the pieces of paper slowly being consumed by fire. A few chapters, a few thousand words; conjured by her recollection of a distant past transformed into ashes.

It's been almost a year since she began writing the story of her life—of a fictional girl in a fictional small town. Every paragraph written opened wounds, yet every transition to the next cured her emotional malaise as well. But there was always that one character and one plot line, the most pivotal of them all, that ended up torn apart, shredded, and most recently, burned.

She did a time check and sighed. An hour before Rachel's estimated time of arrival from Manhattan to where the writer was located.

Block Island.

She could still hear Rachel laugh heartily after finding out where she has relocated.

"You must really hate people in general."

"I just happen to find it quaint."

"It _is_. You fit right in New England. Aaaand, it's a lot closer than Saint Helena, so I'm not complaining at all."

"I thought we agreed to lie low."

"I wasn't even thinking about, you know. I just…miss your company. And, meeting you in New England _is_ as low key as we can get."

"Have you ever told anyone?"

"About our…liaison? No. I don't think it would be wise to inform Kurt or anyone else in our circle—have you?"

"No. But I think Santana was suspicious at some point. Or maybe up to now. She sent me a cryptic message…that whatever it is I'm doing, I should stop."

"Oh, that's…what did you tell her?"

"I haven't replied. I don't know how to reply without sounding defensive. And we're not—you know. Not anymore."

"There's no reason to be—like I said, I'm owning up to this. You're…collateral damage to my temporary insanity."

"Sure, I just accidentally let your fingers slip inside me and gave me orgasms. Oops."

"That's _exactly_ how it happened. See—I miss hearing your laughter. I should visit you."

"I don't think that'll be a prudent thing to do."

"We're friends. Friends visit each other."

"I'm also _that_ friend your—"

"If you don't want to see me, just, say it."

"Rachel, that's _not_ what this is about. But you _know_ there's a very good chance we'll end up not…doing friendly stuff."

"We _have_ self-control, Quinn. It's—"

"When do you plan to visit?"

"I'm not sure now given how unwelcoming your invitation is."

"That's _not_ true, Rachel. I just…"

"Are you hiding something from me?"

"Well, I…"

"Oh. You've met someone."

"Yeah—he's—it's very new. And we're…taking things slow. And I just don't want you to –"

"Get in the way."

"I _just_ don't want you to think we can simply do the things we did again."

"That's your worry?"

"Yes?"

"Quinn, you know you're my friend first. And I would never ever do anything that will jeopardize that. I want to meet him, and give him a fair warning to not hurt my friend."

"Uhm, thank you."

"Read me a line?"

"I thought you'd never ask.

…_Love Jo all your days, if you choose, but don't let it spoil you, for it's wicked to throw away so many good gifts because you can't have the one you want._"

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you sick?"

"No…why?

"I thought I heard your voice—just checking."

"I'm okay, Rach."

"I'm okay. I'm _okay_." Quinn repeated it like a mantra while waiting at the dock on a dark October afternoon. The biting cold was getting to her and the warm coffee she held on for dear life had become icy stale.

"Sunset looks good on you," a voice interrupted.

The blonde smiled sweetly, her eyes never leaving the approaching ferry. "There's always something poignant about it."

"I never liked it growing up. It meant that my father was about to…leave for his real family."

"I'm sorry, I—"

"I never liked it. But I do now. You're beautiful. You make it beautiful."

"Patrick…"

"I know, I know. That doesn't make what I said meaningless. Truths don't rely on time."

"In another life time, maybe we could be..."

"Nah, I know where I stand. Starting this minute, I'm going to be your ridiculously handsome best confidante."

The playwright giggled but shook her head in regret. She leaned against him then kissed his cheek. "You're a good man."

Patrick O'Leary.

Advertising executive by day, craft brewer by night. Good looking. Established and stable; with just the right amount of artistry to understand Quinn's profession. Patient and with a sense of humor.

He was everything but _her._

And there she was taking swift strides towards them.

"Woah. There she is. Quinn. Can I post a photo of her with—Ouch! What was that for?" Patrick mock grimaced. "Your elbow is very sharp."

Quinn glared at her him. "Really? You're going to get star struck _now_?!"

"I_ just_ dumped you because you're all googly-eyed on this woman, the least you could do is give me my social media moment with a Hollywood A-lister. Geez."

Narrowing her eyes, Quinn playfully punched Patrick's arm. "Why is it that I'm _always_ the one getting dumped?"

"Ah no. You said there was Biff and—"

"Shut up!" Quinn guffawed. "Why did I _ever_ open up to you?"

"Well, let's see. You got miserably drunk one night…and I'm charming, trust-worthy, and _not_ Rachel Berry."

"Patrick," the blonde suddenly whispered in a serious tone. "I do _trust_ you. So please, Rachel's career …she can't—people can't—"

The man took in the weight of Quinn's words and stared into hazel eyes. "I swear, Quinn. I won't tell anyone. I swear."

"Thank you," the playwright breathed out.

"I just hope that you'll—I mean, Quinn. At some point…you'd have to let someone in and take care of you…as much as you're caring and protecting her."

"Am I…interrupting?"

Quinn took a deep breath, turned around and grinned. "Rachel."

The actress matched the warmth of her friend's smile and without further prompting jumped for an embrace—not a hug, as the man observing them noted. "Cough, cough. Am _I_ interrupting?"

"Patrick O'Leary," Quinn muttered under clenched teeth. "This is Rachel Berry. Rach, this is Patrick."

Patrick shot the blonde a smug look, then smirked at the brunette, "pleasure to meet you, Ms. Berry."

Rachel returned the welcome with a tight smile. "Likewise, I've been looking forward to meeting you."

Patrick laughed then picked up Rachel's luggage. "Is that…so? I wonder what Quinn has been saying about me."

"Thank you—and no, nothing," Rachel sniggered, "exactly _why_ I've been dying to meet you. I want to know _the_ person who's making Quinn's heart all a-flutter."

The gregarious man stared at the actress with incredulity, then laughed again. "Right, that's me!"

"_Anyway_," Quinn growled then swooped Rachel away from Patrick, taking a few steps ahead of him, holding the brunette as close as possible. "You must be tired."

"Actually, I'm not really—"

"Don't be shy, Rach. It's human to feel exhaustion. Patrick will just walk us to my car and he'll leave us, and then you can rest."

"But I wanted to—"

"He's actually a very busy man," Quinn interjected, "Right, sweetheart?"

"Right, babe."

"But I thought he's also here on vacation," Rachel whispered.

"Yes, but he's also trying to start a brewing business so, you know, experiments and all."

"Oh, wow, that's impressive."

"Yes, so…" Quinn stopped in front of a black SUV. "Here you go, my lady. Your chariot awaits."

"Where's my tip?" Patrick deadpanned after hauling the bags inside. "Or I haven't gone up from indentured servitude?"

The brunette let out a hearty laugh. "You share the same sarcastic humor, I like him already," she nodded to Quinn in approval. "What would be a fitting reward, good sir?"

"A photo with my baby sister's favorite actress," the man beamed, with Quinn's protests drowned by Patrick's huge hand over her mouth. "She worships you."

Rachel's eyes sparkled then bit her lip, hesitating to agree. "If…just please don't post it anywhere until I'm no longer here? I don't want this place and the locals disturbed by…"

"Yeah, I mean…I didn't mean right now," Patrick chuckled. "I'll see you and Quinn again. But yeah, don't worry about it. I promised Quinn as well."

The blonde sighed in relief. "Alright, good."

"I'll see you later," the man smiled then kissed the playwright's cheek. "Good luck," he whispered before walking away.

"You look good together," the brunette teased, bumping her hip against Quinn's, "please tell me you're thinking long-term this time."

"I don't know, Rach," Quinn sighed while buckling up, "I don't know."

"Hey, no, I'm sorry. I'm not trying to pressure you into settling down." Rachel instinctively mirrored Quinn's actions, worrying her lower lip as she soaked in the view that they were passing by. "I just want you to be happy. And you seem very comfortable with—I'm shutting up now."

The blonde smiled. "It's fine, I know what you mean. I just…I spent a good part of my adolescence agonizing over finding the perfect man…being able to settle down and all. I understand your concern. And I appreciate it, Rach. I honestly do."

"But…I have nothing to worry about," the brunette uttered. "You do look more…content."

The writer shrugged. "The sea is calming."

"Maybe I should settle down here as well. Embrace the Zen."

Quinn wrinkled her nose. "I'm sure _you_ will disturb the tranquility of this place."

"Quinn Fabray!" Rachel gasped. "Don't act like I'm the only noisy tourist around here."

"No," the blonde woman chortled, "but you're the only one whose star is so bright. Here we are."

The stopped in front of a private beach, where the actress immediately saw a two-level house that stood majestically against the ocean backdrop. Dread took over at the realization that it was the only house that existed in the whole area. "Uh, Quinn," Rachel gulped as she scanned the darkness. "I know this town is very safe but—"

"There aren't psychos in here, Rach," the blonde chuckled, scrambling to open the door.

Rachel frowned. "Who cares about knife-wielding psychos? What if there are," the actress shuddered then mock whispered, "_ghosts_."

"You're more worried about—there aren't ghosts, I promise—will you get in?" Quinn stamped her foot while holding the door. "It's so cold."

"I thought you like being one with the Atlantic Ocean?" Rachel quipped as she marched past the writer. "Sourpuss."

"Scaredy Cat." The writer retorted. "Well, how do you like this?"

The actress pretended to scrutinize the place, taking in the open space and the unobstructed view of the waters. "I can see why this place has stolen you away from me."

Quinn busied herself taking out food containers for heating. "I made Asian hot pot earlier—vegan of course—is that alright? I can make something else if you're not in the mood for—"

"That sounds perfect."

"Okay," Quinn breathed out, "that's great. I'm just going to reheat this. You can freshen up while I do that."

"Yes, I'd love—where do I stay?"

"All the bedrooms are upstairs, there are, uh, three—I mean, I obviously use one of them, you can, uhm, choose—"

"From the remaining two," Rachel smiled. "I know, Quinn."

The blonde was left alone, confused at what she swore was sadness in the brunette's eyes. She groaned then banged her head against the kitchen cabinet. "Get a grip, Fabray. You're hallucinating from too much salt water. That's what it is."

She took out her phone and sent Patrick a message.

Quinn: Thank you for today, and for all the days. I'm such a horrible person. I'm sorry that I was unfair to you.

Patrick: Bang that girl until she can't walk away from you, then we're good. I'll see you tomorrow with some O'Leary brew. Get her drunk. Maybe she'll talk, too. If that happens, I'll seriously name my first product as "True Brew."

Quinn: Ha ha. Had I known you can be this lewd, I wouldn't have been slightly attracted to you. And you suck at naming things. Are you sure you're an ad executive?

Patrick: Stop texting me and start wooing her, woman.

The playwright pursed her lips and gripped her phone tightly. "Maybe in another life time," she whispered to herself. She returned to task at hand, prepare the dinner table—to make it romantic but not _too_ romantic.

"How on earth…this is tougher than I thought."

"What are you mumbling about?"

"Uhm, nothing—uh," Quinn felt her knees weaken, fighting the urge to stare at the diva in nothing but an oversized sweater that fell slightly above the knee. The blonde moved quickly to retrieve the food, shooing away all images of the diva's damp hair and doe eyes.

"Quinn?"

"Dinner's ready, would you mind choosing a wine you prefer? I chilled a few."

"Quinn."

"Yeah?"

"Are you…okay? You seem flustered,"

"I just—"

"It's okay. I want you, too."

"Fuck."

In a split second, Quinn was all over Rachel. Moving her against the kitchen counter, the blonde left Rachel no chance to claim dominance. She was lifted with ease, and almost screamed when Quinn assaulted her right nipple before she could settle on top of the cold marble island. "Jesus fuck Quinn I—yes, oh god," Rachel hissed. The blonde moaned in response, feeling no barrier between her hand and Rachel's heated core. The writer tugged Rachel closer, resting the diva's legs over her shoulders, before diving for the taste she had desperately missed.

Rachel closed her eyes in pure elation. She could hear the faint sounds of waves crashing against rocks, the muted thunder from miles away, and the creaking of windows conversing with the wind. A harmony of sounds that oddly fit with the rhythm of their movements. And when it was over, everything seemed silent and still, except the ticking of the clock and the beating of Quinn's heart that the diva was quite fond listening to.

"The soup needs to be reheated…again," Quinn huffed.

The diva patted the other girl's chest. "I don't mind eating cold soup."

Both sighed and made no attempt to move.

"Rachel…"

"Don't—oh shit! Patrick! Oh my god, Quinn," Rachel scrambled to untangle herself from the playwright and retrieve her sweater.

Quinn sat still; naked, exposed and vulnerable. She watched in anguish the woman she who's made her life a living hell and paradise on earth move further away from her. "Rachel," she said quietly.

"God, I'm such a disgusting human being. Using _you_," she pointedly remarked as she walked back and forth. "Again."

The blonde girl ran her fingers through hair, still making no sign of covering herself. "I'm the one who assailed you, basically leaving you without a choice."

The actress scoffed. "And I wore nothing but this because I had every intention of being wholesome tonight."

"Why would you do that, Rachel?"

"Well, duh, Quinn. For ob—"The brunette's eyes widened after finally seeing Quinn, genuinely _seeing_ her that night: the brokenness in her voice, her shattered appearance. "Quinn…"

"Come here. Sit with me."

"I…"

"And please hand me my shirt."

"Okay."

"And underwear."

"Yes, of course."

They sat side by side, watching the fire flicker gently, giving warmth and glow. Rachel glanced at Quinn from time to time who kept chewing her lip while seemingly contemplating.

"We have to end this," the writer finally said. "I realize I sound like a first class asshole for saying that after…but I had to say it."

"This isn't about Patrick, is it?"

"No…no…it has nothing to do with him."

"I knew we weren't okay."

"We _are_."

"We're not. We haven't been since…"

"Since when?"

"Since I chose my career over you."

"That's ridicu—"

"That's _when_ you left New York."

"I wasn't meant to stay there for a long time, Rachel."

"That's _when_ you started to create distance again."

"You decided to divorce Jesse. The last thing you needed was to be seen—"

"I _know_. You think the world would be different by now. I'm a hypocrite."

"No, of course—"

"I _am_. Telling people it's okay to—"

"_We _made a decision to—"

"Cut the bullshit, Quinn."

"Yes! Okay! You're right! This is absolutely your fault. I'm just," Quinn raised her hand in surrender, shaking and pale. "At the sidelines, waiting for you to dial 1-800-QUINN. Press 1 if you need affirmation, yes?"

"Quinn. Stop."

"Press 2 if you need to be entertained.

"God, Quinn, why are you—"

"Press 3 if you need to scratch an itch."

"Quinn."

"Press pound sign for phone sex."

"Stop."

"Asterisk for home service," Quinn muttered almost inaudibly.

Rachel bit her thumb with her lips quivering.

"…Do you _really_ think I only value you for that?"

"I…go ask yourself."

"I'm NOT Santana Lopez, Quinn! _You_ were _her_ revenge fuck! You weren't mine!"

"Then what am I to you, Rachel?! Because forgive me if can't distinguish your intentions from Santana when that happened before!"

"You're a lot more to me than that, Quinn."

The blonde looked away and exhaled loudly. "That's—don't—you need to be careful with your words, Rachel."

"You don't think I mean what—"

"I _think_ you mean what you say but you say that in a way that makes them open-ended."

"Then why don't you clarify."

"Why are you _here_?"

"Because I miss you. I miss your company. I don't—technologically mediated communication with you leaves me—it's not as satisfying as being right next to you."

"See, this is exactly what I meant earlier, Rachel. The things you say…what do you want? How do you see this?"

"You—Quinn. What's happening between us? This was supposed to be…uncomplicated."

"I know…I tried. I realized Santana was wise to stop as soon as we left the room. I'm not asking you to do anything. I'm asking you to…if we can stop seeing each other for some time…because I can't seem to—I _obviously _can't—stop myself from trying to have you."

Rachel laughed bitterly. "That's funny. I don't recall you trying at all," she mumbled before abruptly leaving Quinn alone to ponder the meaning of her words.

The diva knew things slowly changed when their two-hour encounters turned into overnighters, when sleeping side by side ended up with one spooned by the other, and when she started waking up earlier than Quinn to make breakfast.

For two.

That the breakfasts extended to lunches, dinners, and night caps.

And her New York apartment came to life with the playwright's clothes, books, and toothbrush. A Corona typewriter as well took residence— a surprise for the blonde; a framed photograph of Saint Helena positioned right on top.

They were careful until they became careless. It remained unspoken until people started to talk. They had temporarily forgotten the purpose of their set up, until tabloids reminded them _why_ they were in this.

Quinn panicked at the first instance of a paparazzi ambush outside a café with their hands clasped together.

Gossip blogs were on fire trying to figure out Rachel's mystery blonde companion until bits and pieces of information about Quinn started to build up.

In a matter of hours.

She figured it wasn't _that_ hard to search about her, but she didn't realize—she never fully appreciated—the magnitude of Rachel's popularity. Her profession was a mere footnote while her sexuality became the focal point.

She wasn't obviously hiding in the closet, but Quinn never felt fully comfortable to brandish her sexuality everywhere. It was _her,_ and no one else's, business.

But now she's somewhat fair game, simply because she was seen attached to Rachel Berry's hip. Her profile rose in the most ignominious manner. And the most disconcerting part for the writer is that no one asked _her_ if she wanted all of the attention.

The actress kept a calm demeanor and maintained a façade of control and nonchalance over the simmering insinuations. She tried to reassure the blonde that, like everything else in Hollywood, things go away.

Eventually.

Much to the diva's consternation, Quinn began distancing herself. Like film being played in reverse, she witnessed in silence how the days became overnighters to merely hours together. She felt cheated by life because she had nothing to stop it from happening.

Quinn wasn't _hers_.

And Quinn can't be hers according to her management if she wanted to continue enjoying the A-list status.

_No actress has ever sustained a career after coming out. _

_No, Ellen is an exception. Why? You ask why, Rachel? Because she's a goddamn comedienne. _

_Even Angelina Jolie had to go super straight and had a thousand children with an extremely heterosexual man. _

_The statement would be, Quinn is your bff from Ohio and was simply being a good friend, commiserating with you while you're dealing with divorce. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less. _

_We don't want you looking desperate or out for revenge. _

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay…Like you said it's…temporary."

"Will…you stay tonight?"

"I don't think that's such a good idea right now."

"I understand…it's—yeah, I understand."

"I…Rachel, this—"

"Has to stop, I know."

"We've had a good run, huh?"

"Oddly. It was the most stable relationship I've had."

"It wasn't—"

"It felt like it. Don't tell me you it didn't feel like that for you."

"Regardless, Rachel. It _wasn't_."

"So, that's it?"

"What do you want from me?"

"Nothing. I—no, I want us to _still_ be friends."

"You'll always be, Rach. That was never sullied. But…my time in New York is over for now."

"When are you leaving?"

"I'm ready anytime."

"When are you coming back?"

"I don't know."

"Where are you heading?"

"I'll let you know."

"Quinn—"

"I have to go, Rach."

"But…"

"I'll talk to you, soon."

_You didn't read me goodnight. _Rachel said when there was nothing but static at the other end of the line.

It _was_ the end of the line.

Or so she thought.

Safely guarded by the weight of the typewriter, Rachel saw a handwritten note with scripts distinct to the blonde:

_"Ah, when to the heart of man_

_ Was it ever less than a treason_

_To go with the drift of things,_

_ To yield with a grace to reason,_

_And bow and accept the end_

_ Of a love or a season?"_

Rachel folded it carefully. She had created her own tradition of carrying the note no matter where she went. She heard the blonde's footsteps and began hiding the letter and tears. She felt the slight dipping of the mattress and the warmth of another body next to her. The actress couldn't resist to roll her eyes playfully when hazel eyes shot her a wounded puppy look.

"You wanted me to have fought for you?"

"That would have been most ideal, yes."

"That would have been extremely hypocritical of me. After fighting to get you to leave…I'm not going to be the one to end your career."

"Maybe my career would have been killed and—"

"I'm _not_ going to be the reason—"

"_And _maybe it wouldn't have. I won't know. I never will. You're not hypocritical; I'm a coward. I let other people control my…I just let it _be_ without fighting. You didn't, as well. It's scary, I know. I _know_."

"Rachel…"

"I thought it was going to be a simple, linear, progression to fame, Quinn. You know how—there's no manual for this."

"Maybe you should write it."

"I'm disgusted at myself. I accepted your decision to leave because of _my_ career, and not because I wanted to protect—I'm still that horrible, selfish girl, willing to rob someone else's happiness for my own advantage."

"I wasn't happy with Finn," Quinn scoffed, scooting closer to Rachel. Instinctively, the actress rolled towards the blonde and burrowed herself into the writer's side.

"But it gave you—it shielded you from a lot of—"

"I really don't see the point of going back to that."

"What is it that you hold on to?"

"Hmm?"

"You said before...that there were things in the past you still hold on to. Beth?"

"Well, that's a given, Rach."

"Anything else?"

"Well, there's my friendship with you guys."

"What else?"

"Are you looking for something specific?"

"I've been thinking about it…I haven't really stopped thinking about it."

"And?"

"I thought there was nothing. Then…you reminded me of certain…things and events."

"I shouldn't have brought up the bathroom art, huh?"

Rachel laughed then propped on her elbow. "Well…that could've been phrased more—but then again, I don't regret it because the events that happened after…do you?

"No…no… I don't."

"It's—yeah, I realized that out of the many memories…the ones we shared are the things I hold on to."

"There were very few of them."

"But very intense and thought provoking. They changed me. And they're the ones I look back these days with nothing but fondness. There's—it's pure and raw…love."

"Rachel…"

"It was there, wasn't it? Don't say a word—I know you'll deny it because that's what you do. But it was _there_. _You_ loved me. You loved me the first tim you spoke to me."

"Well, that's a little bit—"

"Fine," the actress huffed, "let me amend. You were attracted to me. And _then_ you loved me."

The blonde side-glanced the other girl, expression full of mirth. "Aren't you just the egoistic one."

"You're deflecting," Rachel retorted in a sing-song tone.

"So what if I did?"

"So what? So _what_?!"

"That was like…a half century ago."

"Right. And what's happening today has nothing to do with that."

"_Exactly_."

"You _loved_ me back then with the love of a child. You _love_ me now as an adult. Two different things."

The blonde closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "What are you trying to achieve, Rachel?"

"Clarity. You kept me in the dark, unilaterally decided it's _alright_ to protect me but not to let me _know_, you sacrifice your own happiness for me—I mean, who _does _that, Quinn? Who does stupid things like that—"

"Yeah, _okay_, Jesus. I _love_ you."

"Well…that certainly lacked…ardor."

"That's because you're annoying," Quinn whined.

The actress grinned impishly. "Oh now, I'm back to annoying Rachel Berry?"

"There was never a non-annoying Rachel Berry."

"You love me, anyway."

"Yeah, well—"Quinn paused then glared for good measure before softening her expression. "What now?"

"Well, first. You'd have to…break up with Patrick. I'd hate to have you hurt him because he seems to be a really nice—"

"Done."

"What do you mean, done? Say it in—oh, you little devil!"

"You just _assumed_ we were still together."

"A few days ago, you were."

"He dumped me hours before," Quinn shrugged. "He's one of the rare ones who have a might good perception."

"Wow, okay, that's…yeah, okay, good."

"And then?"

"And then…I don't…know."

"Your management will—"

"I'll fire them and find people who aren't afraid to handle situations like this."

"This isn't _just_ a situation, Rachel. You weren't caught with a DUI or a nip slip. This is—"

"My whole career on the line, I know."

"Everything about us, _our_ past…"

"I won't let them hurt Beth."

"See, that's just another complication—I mean, you _do_ realize it's very…Beth's sort of your sister. And this will all—ugh, your fame is so ugly."

The actress smiled sadly. "It _is_ lonely on top. And to think I spent hours watching _you_ climb on top of everyone. Literally. Wishing that was _me_."

"So…we don't have an idea where to go from here."

"I do…and I know _you_ know, as well. It's the unfair way, but…"

"We hide this."

"But _you_ belong to me."

"And you?"

"With all my heart."

Quinn screamed with all her heart; a scream that echoed throughout County Dublin. It's been two years since she recently trotted across the pond once more and settled at Dalkey; six months since her latest play began its Off Broadway debut and was about to make rounds across the country.

Settling into another sea side down, Quinn seemed to have found a much more permanent home. Her _name_ fits, Rachel teased, and that she ought to have that Irish brogue down to a science because it's _sexy_, the diva added.

Quinn's not sure about the accent, but she was sure to have feisty striped bass for dinner.

"So, I just learned how to fish for my own survival."

"That's…not cute."

"Two hours to catch this fiend, baby."

"I'm currently rolling my eyes at you."

"I'm currently can't bring myself to care. How are you?"

"Missing you."

"I miss you, too."

"I hope you're taking good care of our home."

"I just recently purchased dressers you'd love. I can't wait for you to see it."

"We're almost done. We're a bit behind and post-prod are breathing down our director's neck. I can't wait to see _you._"

"Me too."

"So what've you been up to besides murdering innocent fish?"

"Still working on my never ending novel, but it's good that I'm not rushing into it."

"I'm sorry it has been on hold."

"It's fine. The last thing I want is for it to be a best-seller because _your_ fans think it's about us."

"It _is_ about us. And really, half of the reason why your play is getting a lot of press time is because you have been attached to my celebrity status. Admit it, it has its benefits."

"It _would_ be a better benefit if you agree to star in my play, eventually."

"Maybe…when you convert that novel…I will think about it. Besides, I don't think you can afford me."

"Tit for tat?"

"What are you propositioning, Miss Fabray?"

"Well, that depends. Where are you?"

"Home."

"What are you wearing?"

A/N:

"_Love Jo all your days, if you choose, but don't let it spoil you, for it's wicked to throw away so many good gifts because you can't have the one you want._" –Louisa May Alcott

_"Ah, when to the heart of man_

_ Was it ever less than a treason_

_To go with the drift of things,_

_ To yield with a grace to reason,_

_And bow and accept the end_

_ Of a love or a season?"_\- Robert Frost


End file.
